Each month in 2016 I’m doing one day’s work for charity – so everything I earn on that day goes to charity (today it’s Against Malaria Foundation). I had a spare hour alongside my scheduled work today, so I offered to write a custom story if someone would donate some cash. This anonymous donor requested a story about cuckolding, and I’m delighted they did because it gave me this idea, which was so hot I had to have two wanks before I finished it.
If you want a custom story, keep an eye on my Twitter feed around the end of Feb, when I’ll be doing another day like this.
In the meantime, if you like cuckolding too – get stuck in.
Not on the night bus
When we’re dancing in the club and my boyfriend goes off to the bar or the toilet, I like to see how quickly I can pull another man.
He’ll leave me more often than he normally would, if it’s just the two of us on our own. When we’re with friends he can somehow control his bladder, and he doesn’t need to head outside for a smoke that often. We dance in a group, and laugh, and occasionally he’ll slide a hand down the back of my jeans and inside my knickers.
But when we’re alone, he disappears. Because he knows I like to play this game.
He’ll plant a kiss on the side of my neck. A semi-bite – sucking and possessive. He pats me on the arse and then wanders away, leaving me to dance alone.
I’ve got quite good at the dancing-on-my-own thing. I close my eyes and move to the beat, like an inspirational Facebook quote: like no one’s fucking watching. Then when I feel confident and ready and horny – I open them.
I catch the eye of a few guys near me, sifting through them quickly to work out at a glance which one might be the right one to choose.
That guy. The tall one, in a shirt and trainers. Clutching his drink like it’s a life raft and looking out of his depth. Not the confident guys, who leer back at me: him. The nervous one. I shuffle over, dancing at him. He gulps.
I won’t give you the seduction part: that’s boring. The slight smiles and the casual touches and the way I move closer to him in tiny, tiny increments. It works quite quickly though. Soon he’s dancing with me. Now his arms are round me. He’s put his drink down on the floor by the pillar so he can reach a shaking hand down into the back of my knickers, just the way I like it.
Now he’s squeezing.
Now I’m pushing myself harder against him to see if I can coax the beginnings of a hard-on.
Now my lips are on his neck, giving that same kind of sucking-biting kiss that my boyfriend gave before he left.
Now my guy is back from the bathroom, leaning against the pillar and giving me a dark look – possessive determination combined with wry amusement.
Our friend can’t see him yet, and I don’t want to frighten him. So I whisper in his ear:
“Don’t look now, but my boyfriend’s here.”
He turns, looks shocked, doesn’t quite want to stop dancing.
“It’s OK. He’s happy. He likes to watch.”
The stranger nods, gulps again. Waits for me to give him either permission or the brush-off.
Later, when we’ve danced ourselves into a sweat – him, my boyfriend, me – I nod towards the exit, raising my eyebrows. It’s easier to gesture than to get myself heard above the din. And if I’m honest I’m trembling slightly too. We’ve done this before: the watching and the snogging and the aching desire to do more. But we’ve never done more. If the stranger comes with us it will be the first time, and I’m not sure how I’ll cope with the throbbing ache in my cunt on the long, long journey home.
The stranger nods.
On the night bus, we can only sit in pairs. The stranger next to me, me next to the window, and my boyfriend sitting in front. He doesn’t twist in his seat to talk to us – if you were watching you’d think he was on his own. Just a lonely guy going home after a night out, missing out on the furtive groping that’s happening behind him.
When we sit down, my shy stranger suddenly finds his confidence. There’s no more gentle stroking or tentative explorations: he puts his coat over my lap and shoves his hand straight down the front of my jeans and into my knickers. His wrist is held at an odd angle, so I unzip and wiggle to make him more comfortable. When his fingers find my cunt and he plunges in, I let out a brief gasp.
As I turn the gasp into a cough I can see my boyfriend tense up in the seat in front. I can see the line of the side of his neck. See him swallow.
The stranger’s still there, in my cunt. I tense up around him – squeezing my muscles to feel every movement as he fucks me slowly with his hand. His other hand is round my shoulder, gripping me tightly like I might run away.
But I’m not planning to run away. What I’m planning is impossible, but I plan it anyway. I picture it in my mind while the stranger teases my wet clit with his thumb.
I plan for a night bus that’s empty. One with no passengers to disapprove of what we’re doing. Where my boyfriend can sit in front of me like he is now, gulping down arousal and holding back tight moans of jealousy as he listens to the stranger fuck me harder with his hands.
If we were alone I could lean forward to bite one of those kisses onto his neck. Could sneak a glimpse at how hard his dick presses up against his jeans.
I could slide down my own jeans so the stranger gets a better grip. So my boyfriend, sitting calmly in front, could hear the slick, wet noises of his girlfriend getting handfucked just the way she likes it.
I could run my arms round my guy’s neck, circling him as if in a hug, but instead just using his body to balance myself as I lean forward, allowing the stranger to slide onto my still-warm seat, and hold his dick straight out for me to sit on.
I’d slip back onto it, feeling the rock-solid length of it pushing deep into me, and I’d moan with the satisfaction. My boyfriend would moan too. Maybe grip his cock through his jeans with one hand. The stranger? He’d moan, but with pleasure. Maybe guilt. Perhaps just because he couldn’t not. One of those involuntary noises that comes just at the moment when you know you’ll get what you want.
I would fuck him quick and hard. No slow build-up or gentleness. The stranger would paw and grab at me, tearing my top in his eagerness to get his hands on my tits, and pinch harshly at my nipples.
Quick, slick strokes. My hands gripping my boyfriend on the seat in front, using him for leverage as I push up, then letting go of him as I drop back down. Sliding right to the base of the stranger’s cock, and gasping satisfaction with each movement.
My boyfriend wouldn’t look back.
That’s the plan. In my head, anyway. That’s what happens in my mind while we grope and wriggle on the night bus. Perhaps the stranger’s thinking it too, as his left hand works busily away at my clit, circling it quickly to try and get me off. Maybe it’s the plan in my boyfriend’s head too, as he sits in front of us, expending all his effort to avoid turning round.
But we can’t do that, because it’s far too public. The people in the other rows would be horrified. They wouldn’t understand that me and him like to share. That we go on the hunt together: like a team. That the flash of lust in his eyes when he sees me getting fucked is as hot to him as getting fucked himself. That even now, as I get fingered by a stranger, he’s aching for what will happen when we’re home: sex that he gets to direct – telling the stranger where and how and how hard to fuck me, twisting my body into the shapes that will be most pleasing, then retreating to a corner to watch.
They won’t understand, the people on the bus. So we don’t do that. Just this:
As the stranger’s hand moves faster, and my cunt twitches tight round his fingers, I reach out one of my hands and grip a fistful of the hair at the back of my boyfriend’s neck.
And I pull on it tight when I come.
This post is available as audio – click ‘listen here’ at the start of the post, and check out the audio porn page for more sexy stories read aloud.